The Schoolmaster's Tale
by Susan M. M
Summary: A schoolmaster tells his students about the time Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry stole the same money twice. Warning: politically incorrect language and racial themes.
1. Chapter 1

_**Alias Smith and Jones**_

Based on characters and situations created by Roy Huggins and Glen Larson. I don't own the rights to the characters, and this story is an amateur work of fiction, done purely for my own amusement. No profit was made, nor will be made. Originally published in Ouch! #20, a hurt/comfort 'zine from Neon RainBow Press. Many thanks to Jeannie Graham of Peacock Press for beta-reading. If this story took place in the 21st century, Mrs. Parmenter and her family would of course be African-American. But this is set in the 1870s. I'm trying to be true to that era. My apologies if anyone is offended, especially by Lobo's language.

_**The Schoolmaster's Tale**_

_**by Susan M. M.**_

**Wyoming, 1905**

The schoolmaster didn't need to look out the window to see the rain. He didn't need to hear the thunder. He could feel the wet weather. Years ago, a Comanche arrow had left him with a gimpy leg that ached every time there was a change in the weather. Walking stick in hand, the middle-aged teacher limped around the classroom. He looked over shoulders, checking his students' work, quietly offering corrections.

The youngest children were copying spelling words from the chalkboard: bed, hen, get, men, red, wet. They wrote the words with laborious care on their slates. The seven and eight year olds were reading quietly, their lips moving as they sounded out the words. The ten year old Thompson twins were attempting to master the mysteries of long division on their slates (and failing miserably). The three oldest students were writing essays. They alone had been trusted with paper, pen, and ink, rather than slates and chalk.

The schoolmaster was a fine figure of a man, despite his years. His brown hair was liberally tinged with gray. The gray, he claimed, was more from his students than being in spitting distance of the half-century mark.

He glanced up at the clock. "Quarter to three," he announced. "You've got ten minutes to finish up what you're doing. Then you can clean up."

The sixth graders hurried to finish their essays. The first graders, having finished their words, were whispering amongst themselves. The schoolmaster shushed them. Emma and Ellen Thompson showed him their problems. He took the chalk and wrote the correct answers. There wasn't time left today to show them where they'd gone wrong; he'd have to devote some extra time to them tomorrow to explain it again. The low murmur of whispers rose, becoming chatter, as the students completed their work and began gathering their belongings.

"Three o'clock!" Aaron McAllister announced.

"It's not three o'clock until I say it's three o'clock," the schoolmaster corrected him. He paused a second. "It's three o'clock."

The students smiled; a few of them giggled. One of the boys ran to open the door. The wind blew in, and a quart or more of rain with it.

"Mighty damp," the schoolmaster observed. "If you want to stay here until it lets up and get a start on your homework, you can."

"Homework's for at home," Billy Graiman protested. "Can't you tell us a story?"

"Please?" Sarah Fleming begged. "You tell such good stories."

"You have homework to do," he said sternly, but the twinkle in his brown eyes told the children he was likely to oblige them. "Wouldn't your parents be pleased if you got home with your studying already done?"

"They wouldn't be pleased. They'd be shocked," announced Ann Pym.

Everyone laughed; Ann was the worst student in the school.

"Please, Mr. Smith, please," several children begged.

"All right." The schoolmaster sat on his desk. "What sort of story do you want to hear? A Bible story, like Joshua or Samson? A ghost story?"

Lightning flashed and a moment later the thunder roared.

"Good weather for a ghost story. Or maybe one of Aesop's fables?"

"Your ghost stories are too scary," Peggy McAllister protested. Just the memory of the stories he'd told at Halloween made her shiver.

"Bible stories are for Sunday school," Tommy Atkins said disdainfully.

"We want to hear about the old days," Andy Cowan demanded. "Cavalry and Indians, outlaws and rustlers."

"Yeah," several of the boys agreed.

"Hmm." Mr. Smith thought a moment. "You ever hear of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, the bandits who led the Devil's Hole Gang?"

Most of the class nodded.

"Well, did you ever hear of the time they stole the same money twice?" As the children gazed up at him in wonder, he began to tell the tale.

* * *

The Devil's Hole Gang had just robbed the Rock Springs bank, and they were running from a posse. Their horses were tired, and so were they.

Hannibal Heyes pointed to a farmhouse. "Let's stop over there," he yelled, raising his voice to be heard over the wind and the hoof beats. "Hide there and let the posse go past us."

The others shouted their agreement.

"Think you can make it, Kid?" Heyes asked.

"I can make it," Kid Curry replied, but his weak tone and pale skin gave the lie to his words.

They reined their horses to a stop in front of the farmhouse, kicking up a cloud of dust. "Hello, the house," Heyes called out.

There was no answer.

"Out in the fields, I reckon," Wheat Carlson guessed. He was a little older than the other outlaws, having reached the ripe age of thirty without being hung or jailed.

"Likely so," Heyes agreed. "Dismount, boys. There's the well. Let's get some water for the horses and for ourselves. Then we can hide the horses in the barn until the posse's had a chance to go on without us."

Wheat, Kyle Murtry, Lobo Briggs, Johnny Harper, and Dutch Schmidt were quick to obey. Curry remained in the saddle. Heyes started to talk to his cousin.

"What you white men doin'?"

Heyes turned around. There was a colored woman standing there, a scythe in her hand. By the look on her face, she'd rather use it on them than the wheat. Five children crowded around her, the oldest no more than ten or twelve, the youngest looking about three or four.

"Just getting some water from your well, ma'am," Heyes said.

"Ya don't gotta call her ma'am. She's just a darky," Lobo said.

"Didn't your mother teach you no manners?" Heyes retorted. "Don't mean you or yours no harm, ma'am, just wanted to rest our horses a minute and get a drink."

"You from the bank?" she asked suspiciously.

Kyle and Wheat traded amused glances.

"What's wrong with him?" She gestured at Curry with the scythe.

"Nothing," Heyes lied.

Curry fell off his horse.

"Think you're mistook, mister."

Heyes rushed to his cousin's side. "Kid, you all right?"

The colored woman shook her head. "Judgin' by that blood, I doubt it. Here, Thessy, take this." She handed the scythe to the oldest boy, who looked about twelve, and walked over to Curry.

Heyes knelt beside Curry and tried to help him up. The best he could manage was to get him into a sitting position.

Wheat looked at the Kid, then at the rest of the gang. He fingered his mustache. "I know he's yer kinfolk and all, Heyes, but the shape he's in, he's just gonna slow us down."

"That's a bullet wound." The Negress looked from Curry's shoulder to the tired, lathered horses. She glanced at the strangers standing beside her well. All of them were armed, and Kyle and Lobo looked (and smelled) like they hadn't had a bath since the last good rain. "Y'all been runnin' hard," she thought out loud. "Either chasin' or bein' chased. Heyes." She looked the outlaw in the eye. "You'd be Hannibal Heyes?"

"Yes, ma'am," he admitted.

Wheat laid his hand on his gun. "And we're the Devil's Hole Gang, the most dangerous desperadoes you're ever likely to meet."

"Like I said, we don't mean any harm to you or your family," Heyes tried to reassure her. He pulled his bandanna from his neck as he spoke.

She harrumphed. "Ain't got nothin' worth robbin', no how." She tilted her head, peering at him speculatively. "Don't s'pose you robbed the bank that no-account lower-than-a-snake's-belly skunk Lynd runs, did you?"

Heyes pressed his bandanna against Curry's shoulder, trying to staunch the wound. " 'Fraid we didn't stop for introductions, ma'am."

"Ain't but one bank in town. C'mon and bring him up to the house; I'll help you tend his wound. Least I can do for anybody who spit in the eye of that lowdown devil Lynd." She started to lead the way to the house. She called over her shoulder, "Ain't got much, but I reckon we could spare you a bite to eat."

"'Preciate that." Heyes helped Curry to his feet. He ordered his men, "Ride about a mile that way, so our tracks don't stop here. Then muddle the trail up good and proper. After that, double back here."

"Right, Heyes." Kyle started to remount his horse.

"Hold on a minute, Heyes," Wheat said. "While we's risking our lives laying a false trail fer the posse, you're gonna be here sipping lemonade on the porch… with all the money."

Kyle set both boots on the ground. "He's right."

Lobo and Johnny nodded.

"If you want to dig the bullet out of the Kid, I'll be able to get back on my horse and start riding," Heyes pointed out.

Wheat frowned.

Dutch turned pale. After a second's hesitation, he asked, "'Bout a mile, you said?"

Heyes nodded. "A mile or two oughta do it."

"Thessy, Jeremiah, help 'em water the horses. Then take Mr. Heyes' and Mr. Curry's animals in the barn. Ruth, go set some water to boilin'," the woman ordered briskly.

"What about the money?" Wheat persisted.

"We'll split it when you get back," Heyes told him.

"What if we get back and the money ain't here?" Wheat asked. "Or you neither?"

"Dang it, Wheat, you know I ain't gonna ride off and leave the Kid. He's my cousin. And I wouldn't steal your share of the loot." Heyes' brown eyes glared angrily at the implication.

"But what if when you're playing doctor, the posse catches up to you? I know you wouldn't steal our money out of pure meanness," Wheat allowed, "but if you was to get caught whiles you're holding the loot, then we'd've gone to all that work of robbing the bank and nothing to show fer our efforts."

Kid Curry moaned softly.

"I don't have time to argue with you. Go lay that false trail so the posse won't find us." Heyes turned his back on him, making it clear that as far as he was concerned, the argument was over. He helped Curry up to the house and inside.

* * *

"You got any alcohol in the house, ma'am?" Heyes settled his cousin into a wooden rocking chair.

She shook her head. "No drop of spirits has ever come across that door. And you don't gotta keep ma'amin' me. My name's Mehitabel. Mehitabel Parmenter," she added the last name with a touch of pride.

"Wasn't planning to drink it, Miz Parmenter, wanted to clean my knife before I dug the bullet out." Although a slug of whisky to deaden the pain wouldn't have done his cousin any harm, Heyes thought. "Okay, Kid, let's have a look-see at that." He unbuttoned his cousin's shirt and examined the wound. If there hadn't been children present, he would have sworn. "You lost a lot of blood. I'm surprised you didn't fall off your horse a couple of miles back."

"Couldn't," Curry murmured. "If I had, you'd have gone back for me and then we'd both have gotten caught."

The weakness of his voice worried Heyes nearly as much as his wan complexion. But he kept his voice light, not wanting Curry to know how concerned he was about his condition. "So you hung on through sheer stubborn, huh? I swear, Kid, you're almost as bad as I am when it comes to the stubbornness department."

"Grandpa Curry was worse," Kid Curry retorted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Guess it runs in the family," Heyes acknowledged. "I won't be able to dig the bullet out with him in a rocking chair. Ma'am, I'm gonna need to move him over to your kitchen table and use it for an operating table."

"Doubt that rickety old table'll support his weight, Mr. Heyes."

"Then we'll have to lay him down on the floor; can't do this in a chair that keeps moving. Ruth, could I trouble you for that hot water now? Miz Parmenter, I'm gonna need some cloth for bandages and a needle and thread from your sewing basket," Heyes told her.

Mehitabel shooed the children to fetch the necessary items. She went into the next room and returned a minute later with a leather belt. "Might help if he bites down on this."

"It surely will; thank you, Miz Parmenter." He folded the belt over double and gently inserted it in his cousin's mouth. "Bite down on this, Kid. It'll help." Heyes didn't mention that it would help more to keep him from screaming and being heard by the posse than it would in controlling the pain.

Mehitabel handed him a dish-drying towel. Heyes dipped it into the hot water and wiped his knife clean. Then he cleaned Curry's shoulder as best he could. Kid Curry flinched, but the belt kept him from crying out.

"Gotta clean this up; we don't know where that bullet's been," Heyes tried to inject a note of humor into the proceedings. He reassured his partner. "Don't you worry. I've done this before, and I've never lost a patient yet."

"Naomi, grab your dolly. Go outside and play. Sound out if you see anyone coming," Mehitabel ordered.

"Yes, Mama." The littlest girl grabbed a cornhusk doll and rushed outside. It wasn't often during harvest time that she was given permission to go play.

Heyes set his knife tip to the wound and pierced the skin. Curry's blue eyes watered with the pain. Working as quickly as he could, he cut into the muscle, enlarging the wound. He pried out the bullet with his knife. Wishing once again he had alcohol to clean the wound, he washed the cut with warm water. "I know it hurts, Kid. Wish I had something for the pain." He turned to Mehitabel. "Needle, please?"

She'd had the foresight to thread a needle. She handed it to him.

"Hold as still as you can, Kid." Heyes sewed the wound shut. Then he bandaged it. He took a deep breath.

"Lost a lot of blood. Gonna need to rest. Take him back there, lay him on the bed," Mehitabel invited.

"Thank you, ma'am." Heyes helped Curry up. Half-supporting his cousin as he limped, half-carrying him, Heyes led him into the bedroom and settled him on the bed.

"Mama, men are coming," Naomi called from outside.

"Go hide in the bedroom with him," Mehitabel instructed.

"Yes, ma'am, and thank you." Heyes nodded his gratitude and turned to go. Then he turned back and drew his gun.

"What's that for?" she demanded. "You fool enough to fight a whole posse?"

"No, but if they find us, you can tell them truthfully I held a gun on you to force you to help us." Heyes holstered the gun and hurried to join his cousin.

"Thessy, Ruth, clean up this mess." Mehitabel grabbed a broom and went outside. When the posse arrived, she was calmly sweeping the porch.

"Hey, there, Auntie, you seen a gang of men ride past?" one of the riders called out.

"Yes, sir, I sure did. Rode faster than racehorses."

"Which way did they go?"

She pointed with the broom in the direction the Devil's Hole Gang had ridden off.

"Thanks." The posse continued on without another word.

Mehitabel waited until they were well out of sight before going back into the house. "They's gone."

"Thank you, Miz Parmenter. You saved our lives," Heyes told her. "And you didn't even need to fib."

"I try to be an honest, Christian woman," she replied.

"There's a difference between not lying and telling folks things they don't honestly need to know."

"Harvest ain't gonna gather itself. Me and mine gotta get back to work." Mehitabel looked up at Heyes. "Ain't got nothin' worth robbin'. Guess it'll be all right for you to stay here and watch over him.

"Ma'am, I wouldn't rob you or yours if I were down to my last cent," Heyes reassured her with heartfelt sincerity.

"Be back in an hour or two. I hope the family silver is still here when I get back," she added dryly.

Heyes just smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Heyes was wiping his cousin's forehead with a damp cloth when he heard the door open. His hand automatically reached for his gun.

"Mr. Heyes, Mr. Heyes!" Thessy called out.

"In here, Jesse." Heyes took his hand away from his pistol butt; he didn't want to frighten the boy.

"Riders comin', Mr. Heyes." He panted, out of breath from running to bring the warning.

"Could be the posse coming back. Could be my boys. They ought to be done laying a false trail by now," the outlaw mused.

"Mr. Heyes, sir?"

Heyes looked at the boy.

"It's Thessy, sir, not Jesse. Short for Thessalonian."

"Sorry." Heyes glanced down at his cousin, still sleeping peacefully, his forehead only slightly warmer than normal. "I'll stay here with the Kid. You go outside, look natural. Do some chore. See who they are."

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks, Thessy."

The boy ran back into the house a minute later. "Mr. Heyes, it's your gang."

"Good." Heyes went outside. "Howdy, boys."

"Hey, Heyes." Wheat grinned, as though the witticism were original. (It wasn't.)

"How's the Kid?" Kyle asked.

"Resting. Took a bullet out of his shoulder, but he lost a lot of blood." Heyes tried to hide the worried expression on his face. "Get the horses in the barn, out of sight. The posse came by a bit ago, but let's not take any chances. They might come back."

The Devil's Hole Gang hurried into the barn. As the outlaws unsaddled their horses and tended to the weary beasts, Heyes fetched his saddlebags. He sat on a hay bale with deliberately cultivated air of casual unconcern.

"First things first; let's divvy up the money." Heyes wasn't about to give Wheat a chance to complain that he was hogging the loot. Wheat was ambitious, which made him dangerous. He'd never quite forgiven the younger man for taking over the gang when Big Jim Santana had left. Heyes carefully counted the money, splitting it into seven neat piles. He quietly palmed two fifty dollar bills that could have kept the money from dividing evenly. Kyle and Lobo could barely manage second grade arithmetic without taking off their boots; there was no point in overwhelming their brains by introducing them to the concept of division with remainders. As for Wheat and the others, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

The barn door opened. Six men reached for their guns, then holstered them sheepishly when they saw it was only Mehitabel.

"Boys, this is our hostess, Miz Parmenter," Heyes introduced her.

Kyle took off his hat automatically. Lobo slapped his shoulder by way of reprimand, not considering the courtesy necessary for a colored woman.

"Reckon you're tired and hungry, outrunnin' the law. I'll go get dinner started," she announced.

"We'd 'preciate that, Miz Parmenter," Heyes agreed.

"Best you stay here and hide. Can't afford no trouble with the law," Mehitabel told them. "Don't want them to find you here. I'll fetch the soup out soon as it's ready."

"You saying we ain't good enough to sit at your table and eat in your house, missus?" Wheat asked.

"Miz Parmenter's a mother, with young'uns to consider. You know the Devil's Hole Gang are ferocious desperadoes; we're the terror of the west. You wouldn't want to frighten those children, would you?" Heyes asked.

Wheat nodded. "Reckon you got a point there, Heyes."

"Don't you worry none, ma'am," Johnny added. "We're only dangerous to banks and trains, not young'uns."

Mehitabel winked at Heyes and gave him a half smile. "I'll have your dinner out in a wee bit. I'd be thankful if you didn't dawdle over your food. I need the bowls and spoons back to feed my lot."

"You feed your children first, ma'am. We'll wait," Heyes said.

"But I'm hungry," Kyle complained.

"I might be a thief, but I've never taken food out of a hungry child's mouth," Heyes decreed. "Your children have been working hard in the field all day. Feed them first."

Mehitabel nodded and left the barn.

"Heyes, you expecting us to eat out of the same bowls a batch of pickaninnies used?" Lobo demanded in an anguished tone.

"They used 'em yesterday, and the day before," Heyes pointed out. "You expect her to run to town and buy new dishes just to feed us? Be grateful she's sheltering us, instead of turning us in for the reward."

Lobo couldn't argue with that.

* * *

An hour later, Mehitabel, Thessy, and Ruth carried out bowls of potato soup and a plate of cornbread. It wasn't fancy, but it was warm. The outlaws dug in without bothering to worry about table manners.

"You ridin' on after dinner, or spendin' the night in the barn?"

"A night's rest would do the horses good," Heyes admitted.

"Then you're welcome to the barn," she invited. "But be gone come morning. I ain't runnin' no boardin' house."

"Bet there's beds and blankets in the house," Lobo muttered.

"We've slept in worse." The stern look in Heyes' dark brown eyes brooked no arguments, and Lobo quieted down. "Thank you, ma'am."

* * *

For breakfast the next morning there was only well water to drink, no coffee. And the grits were lumpy. But they were warm, and the outlaws had eaten worse. Heyes stilled any criticism of the free meal by asking if they wanted to compare it to the food at the territorial penitentiary.

Once they had eaten, they saddled their horses – all but Heyes. "Head back to the hideout," he ordered. "Don't go there directly. That posse's probably given up, but there's no reason to take chances. Best to split up and come in from different directions."

"Teach your grandmother to suck eggs, why don't you," Wheat muttered.

"What about you?" Kyle asked.

"I'm gonna see if the Kid's fit to ride yet. Don't know if he'll be ready to get himself out of bed yet, the shape he was in yesterday. If he is, he and I will take it back slow and easily. Don't fret none if you don't see us for a few days."

"And if he ain't fit to ride?" Lobo asked.

"Then we'll ride out tomorrow."

* * *

Hannibal Heyes knocked on the door, a pile of bowls in one hand.

Mehitabel opened it. "Thought you rode off with the others."

"Brought back your dishes, Miz Parmenter."

"Didn't need to do that. One of the children could've fetched them."

"The cups are still in the barn."

"We'll get 'em later," she said.

"How's the Kid?" he asked.

Mehitabel shook her head. "You gonna need to ride out without him."

"Can't do that, ma'am. The Devil's Hole Gang doesn't leave a man behind," Heyes said. "'Specially not my own flesh and blood."

"You can't stay here. Told you, I ain't runnin' no boardin' house."

"Miz Parmenter, I ain't leaving without him."

"You can't stay here," she repeated. "I can't afford trouble with the law. One night in a barn is one thing, but you stayin' on, that's too dangerous."

Heyes thought a moment. "You haven't mentioned a Mr. Parmenter."

She gestured at the wooden cross beneath the oak tree. "He passed on, a few weeks ago."

Heyes took off his hat. "My condolences, ma'am. Those fields you're trying to harvest, that's a lot of work for a woman alone with just the children to help. Been while since I was a farm hand, but I think I still remember what to do."

"_You_ wanna work for _me?_" Mehitabel asked in disbelief.

Heyes shrugged. "You need help getting the crops in. I don't wanna leave my cousin behind. Seems to me we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Ain't got the money to pay a farmhand," she pointed out.

"Just room and board, Miz Parmenter, just room and board," Heyes told her. "And just 'til the Kid's ready to ride again."

* * *

Heyes set his scythe down and rubbed the sweat from his brow. He'd forgotten what hard work farming was. "You don't mind me asking, Miz Parmenter, what have you got against Mr. Lynd at the bank?"

"'Cuz he's a lyin' thief," Ruth spoke up.

"And a thievin' liar," Thessy added.

Heyes nodded. "That'd do it, all right."

"We likely to lose the farm," Mehitabel told him. "I went to town, asked Mr. Lynd if he could wait 'til after the harvest 'til we paid the next month's mortgage. He said he'd wait, but that we'd have to pay the whole mortgage all to once."

"The whole thing at once?" Heyes repeated.

Mehitabel nodded. "He claimed my husband missed last two mortgage payments. Said we gotta pay the whole thing off now, including interest and late fees, or lose the farm. And Zeke paid the mortgage every month, I know he did." She wiped a tear from her eye.

"Mr. Parmenter never got receipts when he paid?"

"Couldn't see much point to 'em, when the banker wrote down the amount in his ledger book every month."

"Did you ask to see the records?" Heyes asked.

"Can't read nor write. Neither could Zeke, God rest him. And that snake Lynd said he had nothin' in his fancy ledgers saying Zeke had given him as much as a penny, and if we didn't have receipts to prove we'd paid, then the whole dang mortgage was due."

"Could you take someone with you – the parson or the sheriff, maybe, to the bank with you? Someone who could read what's recorded there?" Heyes suppressed a smile at the irony of him recommending someone turn to the local sheriff for help.

"Ain't no parson in town. Just a circuit preacher comes through a couple times a year. And the sheriff is Lynd's brother-in-law."

Heyes nodded. "That makes things a mite more difficult."

"If Lieutenant Parmenter were here, he'd take care of Mr. Lynd," Amos piped up.

"Hush, child," Mehitabel admonished. "He ain't here. Besides, he's too busy to bother with the likes of us. Likely a general by now, I imagine."

"Lt. Parmenter? You got kin in the Army?" Heyes asked. He knew of the Buffalo Soldiers, of course, the brave Negro cavalry, but he didn't think there were any colored lieutenants. As far as he knew, all the cavalry units had white officers.

Mehitabel shook her head and chuckled. "Ain't no kin to us."

"Lt. Parmenter's a hero," Thessy explained. "Probably got about a million medals."

"Lt. Parmenter was the one come and freed us when the war ended," Mehitabel explained. "We took his name to honor him."

* * *

"You know how to read, Mr. Heyes?" Mehitabel asked after dinner that evening.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Kinda a funny thing to ask an outlaw, but would you mind reading a bit of the Bible to us?" Mehitabel gestured to the black book on the mantel above the fireplace – the only book in the house, as far as Heyes could see.

Heyes nodded. After all she'd done for the Kid, he owed her far more than that. "Anything in particular you'd like to hear, Miz Parmenter?"

"Any page from that book would do my soul good," she replied.

Heyes walked over to the fireplace and took the Bible down. He flipped through the pages until he found his mother's favorite passage. He tried not to think about what Sarah Heyes would have thought of the life he was living now.

"Psalm forty-six… 'God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble: Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be removed…'"

"Amen," Mehitabel said reverently when he finished.

"That sure sounded pretty, Mr. Heyes," Ruth said.

"Wish I could read," Amos said wistfully.

Heyes thought a minute. "Any of you kids know your letters?"

"I know some of 'em," Thessy declared.

"Well, there's twenty-six letters. Each one makes a sound." Heyes thought about long and short vowels, and hard and soft Cs, not wanting to confuse them. "Some of 'em do double duty and make two sounds. The first one is A, like Adam or Amos."

"You hear that? My letter's first," Amos whispered.

"The second one is B, like the Beatitudes." He turned to the New Testament. It had been a while since he'd spent any time studying scripture, and it took him a minute or two to find the correct passage. "You see that letter with the two bumps? That's B."

"Bee like a honeybee?" Ruth asked.

"Uh-huh. 'Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.'" Heyes worked his way through the merciful, the peacemakers, and on down to the reviled and persecuted. Then he asked the children, "Do you think you can remember that this word means blessed?" He pointed to it again.

The children nodded.

"Then you can read your first word."

"Blessed," Ruth repeated.

"Can't think of no finer word for the first one you read," their mother announced. "Thank you, Mr. Heyes."

All five children chorused their thanks, too.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Heyes waited until the children were in bed and he could speak to Mehitabel privately. "Miz Parmenter, I've got a passel of money in my saddlebag, more than enough to pay your mortgage."

She shook her head. "That's stolen money. I couldn't touch a penny of that."

"From what you told me, Lynd's been cheating you; probably cheating other people, too. Stealing stolen money, well, that's…"

"Still a sin," she interrupted him.

"You could have turned us in to that posse. The reward money on our heads would've paid off the mortgage, and left you enough after that to live comfortably the rest of your life."

"Couldn't have done that." Offended dark eyes gazed up at him. "I'd never turn a runaway over to the law. Happened to too many of my kinfolk."

Heyes jutted his chin in the direction of the bedroom. "He's the only family I have left. All the rest were killed in the war. He'd have died without your hospitality, and his life is worth more than a thousand dollars to me."

She pursed her lips, thinking it over. Then she shook her head again. "Stolen money is stolen money."

Heyes nodded. "Then I'll say good night, ma'am."

"G'night, Mr. Heyes."

* * *

"Kid, you awake?" Heyes called out softly.

"Halfway."

Heyes came in with two mugs. "Drink some water." Before Curry could argue that he wasn't thirsty, Heyes set the mugs down on the floor. He helped his cousin sit up in bed, then reached down for one mug and held it to the Kid's lips. "Drink," he urged.

Curry managed to get some down, although as much wound up on his chin as in his mouth.

Heyes set Curry's mug down. He wiped the sweat off his brow, then picked up his own mug, draining it in three quick gulps. "How you feeling?"

"Tired. Think you're more tired, though," Curry teased.

Heyes nodded. "The past two days have been some of the hardest that I can ever remember in my entire life."

"Outlawing is a lot easier than honest work, ain't it?" the Kid asked.

Heyes agreed. His back ached. His hands were sore and calloused. "Up at cock-crow every morning. Go to bed exhausted, and wake up still tired the next morning. Haven't worked this hard since I did that cattle drive, the year after I ran away from the orphanage. Given my druthers, I prefer working with my brain to my muscles. Farming is just too hard on the back." Only two days as a field hand, and Heyes was already tired of being tired and sore. The scant rations didn't help, but he could hardly complain, since Mehitabel was sharing all she had. Heyes couldn't wait to go back to the Devil's Hole and his own bed. A bed that no one expected him to get out of until he was good and ready.

But Kid Curry was his only family. He couldn't ride on without him.

"Think you can take a little more water? And if you can keep that down, I'll get you something solid to eat," Heyes offered.

* * *

"No." Curry used some words he wouldn't have dared use if Mehitabel or the children had been in the house. "I ain't drinking no more willow-bark tea."

"Drink it," Heyes ordered.

Blue eyes glared up at him defiantly.

"You like being in pain?"

"You weren't like this when Dutch got shot and you dug the bullet out of him," Curry pointed out.

"Kid, you lost a lot of blood. Dutch didn't ride for miles, bleeding his life out like you did. You need to drink lots of liquids. Now take this; it'll do you good." Heyes held the cup to his lips.

Reluctantly, Curry drank the foul-tasting brew. "I don't think you're coming back to the house three-four times a day to check on me and force willow-bark tea and broth down my throat. I think you're coming to escape the fieldwork."

Heyes grinned. "Ah, you discovered my secret." He reached down and tousled his cousin's curly hair.

* * *

"Do you remember what that letter is?" Heyes asked. Every evening he read a bit of the Good Book to the Parmenter family, and taught the children their ABCs.

"I!" Thessy, Ruth, and Jeremiah raced to see who could name it first.

"What sound does it make?" Heyes asked.

"Eh."

"So see if you can sound out that bit there," the outlaw challenged.

"Eh-en, in, the, buh, uh, guh…" Thessy looked up. "It's too long.

"You were doing all right," Heyes assured him. "'In the beginning.'"

"In the beginning," they repeated.

"'In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth,'" Heyes read aloud.

The children recited the line after him, and Mehitabel chuckled.

"Miz Parmenter?" Heyes asked.

"Never thought I'd see the day when a bank robber played Sunday school teacher," she said.

* * *

Every day, Kid Curry was a little stronger. He fussed about being confined to bed, but when he collapsed on the floor, he was forced to admit that he wasn't quite ready to ride off to the outlaws' lair yet.

* * *

The fifth day, as they were working in the fields, they heard hoof beats. Heyes hid, as Mehitabel and the children went to see who was coming.

"Howdy, there, Mehitabel."

"Good morning, Sheriff," she replied in a slightly too-loud voice.

"Just came to tell you to pack," the lawman said.

"Pack? What you mean?"

"Mr. Lynd's coming to collect the mortgage this afternoon. You'll need to pay up or get off. Thought I'd give you enough warning so you could pack your things and be ready to go," he explained.

"But Mr. Lynd said we could wait until the harvest was in and sold before we paid," Mehitabel protested.

"Johannson's got his harvest in, so Mr. Lynd is collecting now."

"Karl Johannson has six strapping sons to help him with his harvest. I just got myself and these little ones," she pointed out.

Ignoring her complaint, the sheriff said, "We'll be back this afternoon, Mr. Lynd and I. You best be ready, woman."

She watched downhearted as he rode off. Heyes waited until the sheriff was well out of sight before he dared to come out.

"Miz Parmenter, please, let me help you," the outlaw asked.

"Ain't right, Mama," Thessy complained. "Ain't fair. Youngest of the Johannson boys is sixteen, and every one is taller than Papa was. We can't work as fast as they can."

Mehitabel took a deep breath. "No, it ain't right," she said after a moment. She looked up at Heyes. "Lynd's a cheat, a low-down dirty dog of a cheat. You said— You said it wasn't a sin, stealing stolen money."

"Not a sin I'd feel guilty about," Heyes told her, although admittedly his conscience was not so strict as hers.

"Doesn't the Good Book say somethin' about reapin' what you sow?"

"Yes, ma'am, it does," Heyes replied.

She thought a minute. Neither Mr. Lynd nor the sheriff had ever called her ma'am, or Mrs. Parmenter. Heyes had always treated her like a lady, and any bandit who read the Bible and taught the children their letters from it couldn't be all bad. Whereas Lynd made a weasel look like a gentleman. She sighed. "Heaven forgive me. I ain't got no choice."

Heyes nodded, relieved. His conscience was far from clean, but he would have felt terribly guilty letting her home be foreclosed on because of her scruples.

"And that snake Lynd has it comin'," she muttered.

* * *

Leaving Thessy in charge of the harvesting, Mehitabel and Heyes went back to the house. They found Kid Curry sitting in the rocking chair when they got there.

"Good to see you out of bed, Mr. Curry."

"Good to be out of bed, ma'am," the young gunslinger replied.

"Think you're well enough to ride, Kid?" Heyes asked.

"Couldn't win any races, but I could probably manage to stay in the saddle," Curry allowed. "Why, we moving on?"

"The sheriff is coming, and it'd be a real good idea for us to be gone when he gets here," Heyes said. He turned to Mehitabel. "Given what you've said about Lynd, I don't know that I'd trust a receipt he wrote; might be a good idea to have a receipt ready, so you just need him to sign it and the sheriff to witness it."

Mehitabel nodded.

Heyes bit his lip. He knew from trying to teach the Parmenter children to read that there was neither paper nor ink in the house. "Let me see if I can find anything to write the receipt down on."

Heyes checked his belongings and Curry's. He found a pencil in the bottom of his saddlebag, but no paper. He had a plan percolating in the back of his mind, but for it to work, Mehitabel _had_ to get a receipt.

"There's some blank pages in the back of the Bible," Heyes remembered. "If we tear one out, that'll work."

"Tear a page out of the Bible?" Mehitabel was shocked.

"Just a blank one, not one with scripture on it," Heyes told her.

"That book is holy, sacred. You don't tear it up," she protested.

"But we don't have anything else. You've got to get a receipt, or Lynd is likely to take the money and then foreclose anyhow," Heyes warned.

"I'd sooner you put a knife to my throat then tore up the Good Book."

"What if you didn't tear the page out?" Curry asked quietly.

"Huh?"

"They've got those blank pages in the Bible so folks can write down family stuff: births and marriages and deaths and so forth," Curry pointed out. "Isn't paying off a mortgage as important as that? If you write the receipt in the Bible, then you can't lose it."

Mehitabel and Heyes just stared at Curry for a moment. Then they looked at each other. Mehitabel nodded.

"Kid, I thought I was supposed to be the smart one in the family."

Curry grinned. "I guess you must be rubbing off on me."

Heyes took the Bible down from the hearth and carefully wrote down the date, the amount, and the fact that the mortgage was paid in full, that the farm was the property, now and forever, of Mehitabel Parmenter. "There. You get Lynd to sign that, and the sheriff to witness it."

"I will," she pledged.

Heyes and Curry went through their saddlebags, carefully counting out a thousand dollars in used bills. They ignored any crisp, new-looking bills or any large denominations. Those would be too suspicious for an impoverished widow to have on hand. "There you are, ma'am. And if you'll excuse us, we'd best be on our way. We don't wanna risk being here when the sheriff arrives."

"Wouldn't be healthy for you," Mehitabel agreed. "Outlaw or not, I'm gonna miss you, Mr. Heyes. You, too, Mr. Curry."

"Kind of you to say so, Miz Parmenter. You ready, Kid?"

"Ready as I'm gonna be." Curry nodded politely to Mehitabel. "Thank you for your hospitality, ma'am. Wish you all the luck in the world."

* * *

They stopped in a shady grove a few miles down the trail from the Parmenter farm to rest the horses.

"I told you, Heyes, I'm fine," Curry protested. "The boys'll be worried about us. We need to get back to Devil's Hole."

"We ain't waiting for you, Kid. We're waiting to get our money back."

"Huh?" Kid Curry wasn't sure if he'd heard his cousin correctly, or if he was still too weak to understand him properly.

"Lynd is going to come this way. When he does…" Heyes touched his gun. "We get back the money we lent Miz Parmenter."

Curry grinned. "You always were the smart one in the family."

* * *

The two outlaws waited for what seemed like hours, but eventually they heard horses coming down the trail. Heyes and Curry pulled their bandannas up over their faces. Pistols drawn, they rode out, blocking the trail.

"Stand and deliver," Heyes ordered.

The sheriff reached for his gun. Curry fired. The bullet grazed the sheriff's hat, but it didn't touch a hair of his head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Curry admonished.

"Do you know who I am?" the sheriff sputtered.

"No, but maybe you know who we are. Hannibal Heyes," he nodded, then pointed at his cousin, "and Kid Curry. You might recollect us: we robbed your bank last week."

Lynd swore.

"Understand you've been out collecting mortgages. Rather than robbing the same bank twice, we thought we'd just relieve you of the money here," Heyes explained.

"I'm the sheriff of Rock Springs. You can't rob me!"

"Actually, Sheriff, we're more interested in robbing him." Heyes pointed at Lynd with his gun. "But you go ahead and empty your pockets. We wouldn't want you to feel left out."

"Toss your guns down," Curry ordered.

The sheriff hesitated.

"The bullet in your hat was a warning shot," Curry told him. "I only give one warning."

Swearing under his breath, the sheriff threw his gun down. A moment later, Lynd did likewise.

"Keep 'em covered, Kid." Heyes dismounted and collected the guns. Then he took the money from Lynd, as well as his pocket watch, and the sheriff's wallet. "Thank you, gentlemen. Pleasure doing business with you."

Then Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry rode off into the sunset.

* * *

"Then Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry rode off into the sunset," the schoolmaster concluded. He glanced out the window. "The rain's let up. You best get along home before your folks worry about you," he admonished. "Go on, shoo."

Reluctantly, they gathered their books and put on jackets. They had hoped for a second story.

"How'd a teacher get to know so much about outlaws and adventures?" asked Andy Cowan.

Joshua Smith, who'd once been known as Hannibal Heyes, just smiled. "Oh, I read a lot of dime novels when I was younger." Once the kids were out of the building, he grinned and added, "If only to make sure my name was spelled right."

* * *

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

* ~ *

*

Author's Apology for Political Incorrectness: If this story took place in the 21st century, she would of course be African-American. But this is the 1870s. I'm trying to be true to that era. My apologies if anyone is offended, especially by Lobo's language.


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